Where do I even begin? This was an Anne Rice book that did not read like an Anne Rice book. It was, to use a word she loves, interminable. Interminably dull. There was nothing sensual or romantic like I'm used to with her writing, although it looks like she tried really, really hard. Is this her writing now that she's found Jesus? I honestly hadn't read anything since the Vampire Chronicles and this was a letdown.Reuben, the protagonist, is hardly a relatable or sympathetic character; he's a trust-fund baby who slums as a reporter that drives a Porsche and blithely throws money around on a house and the various accoutrements to fill it (said house is furnished...). And he (and everyone else in the book, including a 16 year old) is an expert in anthropology and theology. And music. And classical literature. The book wanders, meanders, tries too hard to be philosophical. The characters are all pretentious, especially Reuben's affair-turned girlfriend, the milksop Laura in her constant old-lady garb. People like this don't exist. And so much emphasis was placed on some ancient cuneiform tablets that were found within the house that the reader is lead to think, when they turn up missing "well, they must have something to do with this werewolf thing!" Nope. Not a damn thing.
With the topic of werewolves, she had so much potential, and this fell so painfully flat. I have never thrown a book down and yelled out loud my frustrations at an author before this. I hope never to have to again
Given 1 star on Goodreads (This review originally posted to Goodreads)
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